by A. M. Arthur
The bridal party was last. Sophie poked at Wes, who shook his head, so she stood on one of the picnic table benches and beamed at everyone. “Hi, all!” She introduced the group, all familiar names and faces to Mack. He was more interested in their jobs. Sophie and Derrick both worked for the same nonprofit, which is how she’d met Conrad. Miles tried to melt into the table when she described how he’d met her brother Wes through the dinner theater where Miles cooked and Wes acted.
Actor. Of course, he’s a damned actor.
No more actors.
Mack had expected someone with a dramatic background to leap onto the table and begin some kind of speech about his family, but Wes waved from his seat at the table.
“Thank y’all for speaking up,” Arthur said when everyone had been introduced. “It’s a right pleasure to get to know everyone a little better. I know by now your stomach’s gotta be growling from the mouthwatering scent of this here meat. So I think it’s about time we all line up and eat!”
Some weeks the guests swarmed the food all at once like a cattle stampede. This group moved more like rolling waves, a few getting up at a time and lining up with a mix of the ranch hands. Wes’s crew got up, led by Conrad, and Mack didn’t realize he’d done it until he was in line behind Wes.
“You get bit by the quiet bug out on your hike?” Mack asked.
Wes startled, then glared over his shoulder. “I’m a little tired. All actors aren’t hyperactive attention whores, you know.”
The acidic reply surprised Mack less than the implication of the words. Mack glanced behind him at Reyes, whose face was completely blank. Someone had told Wes about Mack’s history, and it was more likely Colt and his big mouth.
Wes requested a medium-rare steak off the grill, then walked to the table with all the side dishes. Mack went for the messier ribs, because they were the best ribs in the county—dry rub, sauced before serving. Melt-in-your-mouth meat that fell right off the bone. Sweet, smoky and just about perfection.
Mack could eat his weight in ribs, and Arthur always made plenty, so he added a single scoop of Patrice’s baked beans to his plate, then debated where to sit. Colt and some of the other hands were sitting with the three girlfriends, and the table was pretty full. Wes had Miles on one side of him and an empty seat on the other.
I’m insane. I shouldn’t do this.
Mack took his plate and plunked down at the table next to Wes.
* * *
Wes hadn’t thought much of Mack approaching him in the food line, or about the harmless question. Okay, so it was more like a tease. Bitten by the quiet bug? Really? And maybe he’d been a little sharp in his reply, but Wes was still muddled by the past and kind of tired. So it shocked the hell out of him when Mack sat down next to him to eat his dinner.
The benches were long enough to accommodate four people, but Wes hadn’t given Mack much room on the end. Their shoulders brushed, and an odd little thrill shot through Wes’s gut. The big man smelled like sweat and horses and sunshine, and for some ungodly reason, Wes found those things hella appealing. Beneath it all, too, was an underlying woodsy scent, probably from his deodorant or shampoo.
His jeans got tight, and Wes gripped his fork hard so he didn’t adjust himself.
“How’re you folks enjoying the food?” Mack asked.
“It’s amazing,” Conrad said. “Real deal barbecue. Not too many places in San Francisco do it right.”
“Arthur’s spent a lifetime perfecting the seasonings.”
Wes cut into his steak, impressed that it was, in fact, perfectly medium-rare. That couldn’t be easy to manage, cooking multiple pieces of meat to various temperatures. He popped a piece into his mouth. Spices popped against his tongue, too many to name, and holy damn that was good. The fat was nice and crispy, the outside perfectly seared.
“It’s really good,” Miles said on his left. “Better than the chefs at work.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” a new voice said. Wes startled at the sight of Reyes sitting on the other side of Miles. He hadn’t noticed the other cowboy had joined them, too focused on Mack and his own food. “You’re a cook, right?”
“Line cook,” Miles told his plate.
“Pretend I know nothing about restaurant kitchens and explain that term to me.”
Miles finally turned his head and started talking to Reyes in a low voice. Wes gaped at the back of Miles’s head, then looked across the table at Sophie. Her eyebrows were in her hairline. In their circle of friends, Miles hardly ever engaged in real conversation, especially about his job. Seeing him open up to a stranger was...kinda cool.
An elbow nudged his ribs. Wes turned to look into Mack’s deliciously dark brown eyes. Like a proper espresso. His lips were also quirked into what was probably the closest thing Mack got to a smile. “Reyes doesn’t usually talk much, either,” Mack whispered.
“Maybe severe introverts have a radar that helps them find their people,” Wes whispered back.
“Could be.”
This was probably the part where Wes apologized for snapping at Mack in the food line, but he didn’t. After all, Wes wasn’t the guy with the actor issue, so until Mack explained that, he left his comments as is and kept eating. All of the food was great, even the single bite of baked beans he allowed himself. He was sharing a small-ish room with four other dudes tonight; judging by the other plates, they’d be sleeping with the window open.
Wes went for a different conversational tactic. “So Colt tells me you guys did SWAT together,” he said.
Mack’s fork scraped across his plate. He glanced around at the other tables, probably looking for Colt so he could level the guy with the glare now creasing his face. “Yeah, we did.”
“That always looks so sexy on TV and in the movies.”
“Looks sexy, but it ain’t. It’s a lotta hard work. You take big damned risks every time you enter a scene. Sometimes it doesn’t go your way.” Mack’s voice softened by the end, hinting at a story. A sad story Wes probably wasn’t going to get at a picnic table, over a pile of ribs.
He didn’t want to piss Mack off by pressing, so Wes asked, “I’m guessing you like it better out here?”
“Yeah. Guess I’m a country boy at heart.”
“At least the horses seem to like you, because you aren’t much of a people person.”
Something rumbled in Mack’s throat that sounded a lot like laughter. “You aren’t wrong about that.”
Derrick interrupted with a question about the horses, and that stole Mack’s attention away for a while. Wes watched him while he ate, noting that Mack visibly brightened when he talked about the horses they rescued and trained for the public to ride. For someone not born to the life, it was definitely in his blood. Kind of like how acting was in Wes’s blood. Maybe he’d never be the major star he’d dreamed of being, but he couldn’t imagine giving it up. Not for anything.
At some point, Arthur stood atop one of the picnic tables and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “While y’all continue to eat, and please do continue because we’ve got plenty,” he said in a booming voice, “I want to tell y’all a story.”
Mack groaned softly. Whatever the story was, he’d probably heard it a billion times by now.
“The Garretts were founding members of the town of Garrett. We’ve been on this land for many generations, and there’s a story that’s come down from father to son. A story I’ll share with you now. See, Garrett used to be a gold rush town, back in the day, only the gold wasn’t here. The few veins they found dried up fast. So we became more of a crossroads than a destination.
“As my great-great-great-grandfather told it, a train got robbed once by a group of thieves. A train that happened to be carrying gold meant for Washington, DC. Gold these thieves carry off, only the Pinkertons find them. These thieves load up on horseback and tear off into the
wilderness, going right through Garrett lands. The Pinkertons split up, one group chasing straight after, and the other circling to intercept on the far side of the mountains. Only when they finally catch the thieves, they ain’t got the gold on ’em.”
Wes blinked, more surprised by that part of the story than he should have been. Pretending to have missing gold on the land was a great sell to tourists, and Arthur told the story like he believed it.
“So where’s the gold?” Miller asked.
Someone threw a dinner roll at his head.
Arthur gave a big, dramatic shrug of his shoulders. “No one knows. Agents swarmed the land, much as my ancestors allowed, but no one ever found the gold, far as I know. Family used to go out and search, but there’s parts of the land that’s never been touched. There’s just so much, and so many places to bury gold. Plus...the ghost.”
Murmurs rippled over the crowd—perfect dramatic pause, too, from Arthur. “My great-great-grandfather told stories of going out looking for the gold, and having a sense of bein’ watched. No one was ever around, but he wasn’t alone. A big old tree branch would snap off and fall close to where he stood. A campfire would blow out for no good reason. After his brother was bit by a rattler and died, the family decided to stop searchin’ and leave the gold to that ghost.”
“Dude, what if we went out with metal detectors?” Liam said to his buddy.
Wes’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head.
“I’d advise against it,” Colt spoke up. He was at the table next to Liam’s, and he turned to them with a grave expression. “Had some guys your age two years ago wantin’ to do the same thing. Warned ’em not to, but they went out, anyway. Came back with the piss scared out of them and wouldn’t say by what. Packed up and went home the same day.”
The dude-bros exchanged worried looks.
Wes didn’t buy into the whole ghost thing, but the story was reasonable enough to keep those two meatheads from wandering off on their own.
“Yup,” Arthur said. “It’s why we have fences up, and why the trips into the wilderness are guided by our horsemen. They know these lands, and they know where to avoid. That don’t mean you gotta be scared to explore. Just stay on the marked trails, hear?”
A general murmur of consent went around the group.
“Now, how about a little music to round out the evening?” Arthur asked.
One of the ranch hands—Wes didn’t remember his name, only the tattoo sleeves on both arms—stood with a guitar looped around his neck. He started playing “Oh! Susanna,” which made Wes’s skin twitch, but the Reynolds boys raced over to the musician and started clapping along.
Sophie seemed absolutely charmed by the whole thing, so Wes relaxed and let the night play out. Well, as relaxed as he could get with Mack’s big body so close to his. Wes’s entire being was aware of the man, and that awareness stayed at DEFCON One for the rest of the night, because Mack didn’t move. Even as others got up to mingle, a few even to dance to the music, Mack stayed at the table and watched it all.
Wes tried not to take it personally—totally in a good way—because Mack said he wasn’t a people person. Except he’d purposely sat next to Wes. Spoken to him. Stuck around.
Maybe papa bear is lonelier than he’s letting on.
That vacation fling may happen yet.
* * *
Wes and Miles went up to the room at roughly the same time. Conrad, Sophie and Derrick were hanging around with the girlfriends on the front porch for a while longer, but Wes was beat. Miles had started drooping around the edges over an hour ago, but seemed reluctant to go to bed alone. In fact, Miles had been around someone from their group ever since their arrival that morning, not seeming to want to explore on his own.
“So how’d you like the first day?” Wes asked as he dug around in his suitcase for boxers and a sleep tank. The room wasn’t superhot, and a nice breeze filtered in through the open window, but he ran warm.
“It was fun,” Miles replied. “It really is beautiful here.”
“I could tell you thought so. You barely put your camera down long enough to eat dinner.”
Miles squatted by his own suitcase to rummage for clothes. “I like photographing nature. It relaxes me. Usually I only get to take pictures in Golden Gate Park, but this is real, open countryside.”
“You ever think of being a photographer instead of a cook?” He whipped off his green T-shirt that kind of smelled like horse, then put the fresh tank on.
“Not really. I sort of fell into cooking, and I enjoy it. Excuse me.” Miles grabbed his clothes and a small travel kit, then ducked into the bathroom.
He’d always been a bit of a prude at home, but there was a lot more elbow room out here to change clothes than in that tiny bathroom. Whatever. Wasn’t like either of them wandered around their shared apartment in their underwear, anyway.
Wes shoved his suitcase under the bed, then stretched out on top of the covers. It gave him an uninspiring view of the underside of the top bunk, all springs and striped mattress. Not the most comfortable thing ever, but better than a sleeping bag on the ground. He yawned a few times, his body relaxing while water ran in the bathroom sink. The toilet flushed.
Miles exited the bathroom, dressed in the same gym shorts and white tee he slept in at home. He shut the bedroom door almost all the way, turned off the overhead light, and then used the ladder at the end of the bunk to climb up, making the springs creak and bounce in a scary way.
“So is it me, or do you already have Mack on the hook?” Miles asked.
“Hmm. He’s not so much on the hook as nosing around the bait.” Wes still couldn’t shake the warmth of Mack’s body or the memory of his scent. God, he wanted to explore all of Mack’s nooks and crevices and find out what he tasted like. His dick perked up at the thought, and no way was he jerking off with Miles right there.
Down, boy.
“But you’re interested in him?”
“Sure, for a fuck. Maybe a few fucks, but that’s it. We’re only here a week, and besides, I have zero interest in getting my heart broken by another cowboy.”
“Drake wasn’t really a cowboy.”
“Close enough.” Drake had been a mistake from day one, but Wes had let their intense sexual chemistry cloud his judgment. “Besides, you heard what Colt said. Mack isn’t into actors, so it would be vacation sex for both of us.”
“Nothing wrong with a little vacation sex.”
“Says the guy who never seems to get laid.”
“Whatever. You’ve lived with me for a year, dude. I have sex. Maybe I don’t have it to the frequency of your liking, but I’m cool with it.” Miles’s voice had risen a bit with each new word, and by the end he almost sounded pissed.
“Peace, dude,” Wes said in the semidarkness. Moonlight spilled in through the windows, helping him see shapes in the room when he really needed to shut his eyes and sleep. “I’m not giving you a hard time, I promise. I mean, you went home with that guy on your birthday, so...”
Miles didn’t respond to the leading statement, neither to confirm nor deny he’d slept with that guy. Wes kind of wished they were talking face-to-face, instead of face to underside of bed, so he could see Miles’s expression. Wistful? Angry? Regretful?
“Anyway,” Wes said, “uh, night.”
A grunt was all he got in response.
Chapter Six
A sharp, squawking noise pierced the darkness so unexpectedly that it startled Wes into tumbling right out of bed. He hit hardwood flooring instead of his bedroom’s carpet, and for a split second, he had no idea where the hell he was. The squawking noise ceased, only to be replaced by deep, rumbling laughter.
“The fuck?” Wes said as the room came into focus. Four bunk beds. Streaming sunlight. Conrad laughing at him from the top bunk to his left.
Oh yeah. Cowboy camp.
>
“What was that?” Derrick asked, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.
“I think it was supposed to be a rooster,” Miles replied. He peered down at Wes from his bunk, fully awake, hair styled. Dressed. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Wes hauled himself up, his elbow a little sore from smacking it into the floor. “Jesus, that was one terrifying rooster call.”
“It’s probably Patrice’s way of making sure everyone’s up for breakfast.”
“I’m surprised no one’s ever had a heart attack from that sound. Jesus. How long have you been up?”
Miles shrugged. “A few hours. Couldn’t sleep.”
Wes’s bladder gave a kick, but Derrick had already claimed the bathroom, so he walked to the window. They faced east, and the sun was up past the distant mountains, so it wasn’t super early. A few ranch hands in cowboy hats and boots were walking around, doing whatever it was they did on the ranch. No one who could have been Mack. Even if his face was hidden, Wes knew that ass.
He finally got a turn to piss when Derrick was in the shower. Sharing one bathroom with four people wasn’t something he’d done since first moving to Los Angeles and landing a spot in a tiny two-bedroom apartment. He’d slept on a bunk bed there, too, with a fellow aspiring actor who talked in his sleep. Wes had quickly invested in earplugs.
Sharing a bathroom had also taught him the fine art of getting in and out fast, including brushing his teeth while showering, which Wes did as soon as Derrick vacated. Miles was still on his bunk reading when Wes was dressed and ready for the day.
“If you guys want to head down, I’ll meet you at breakfast,” Conrad said, looking up from his phone.
Wes put a hand on his hip. “Setting up a booty call with Sophie?”
Conrad’s guilty expression made Wes laugh.
“Works for me, I’m starving,” Derrick said. “Come on.”
Miles put his book down, and the three of them left the room. The scents of cooked bacon and coffee tantalized Wes’s senses on the walk downstairs to the first floor. In the dining room, the sideboard behind the long dining table was covered with platters of cooked bacon, biscuits, a pot of sausage gravy, home fries and fresh fruit.